


The Red Drake of Minrathous

by apostapals (apostapal)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Agender Hawke, Antares Lavellan, Assorted Character Cameos, F/F, F/M, Gen, Kendall Hawke, M/M, Minor Violence, Multi, Other, Post-Canon, Suggestive Themes, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-14 06:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8002636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostapal/pseuds/apostapals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the disbanding of the Inquisition, its former leader Antares Lavellan seems to fade into obscurity. But all is not what it appears to be when a small group of vigilantes, lead by an elf with faded Dalish tattoos, pops up in the heart of the Tevinter Imperium seeking to trigger another elven uprising--this one stronger than ever. With Magister Pavus working towards a new era of change and equality for the Imperium and his opponents left ever looking over their shoulders for some unknown group, things begin to finally look like they might be moving towards better days. But what happens when the Red Drake and his companions turn out to be not quite as untouchable as the magisterium believes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crash Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comte Lavellan pays Magister Pavus an unexpected visit.

Publicly, former Inquisitor Antares Lavellan was rarely seen in Tevinter. He visited Minrathous on occasion, and Magister Pavus made quite the show of it, toting his paramour around like a precious prize. Otherwise, he seemed to simply fade into the background hum of progress. He maintained a home in Kirkwall, and had been long rumored to be working on books about the Elven history the Inquisition discovered when active.

Privately, however, things were not always as they seemed…

Footfalls passed, loud and heavy, and neither of them breathed until they’d faded down the alleyway. Both elves kept their backs pressed to the brick wall behind them, hoods low over their heads, and waited. After a long moment, one spoke.

“Fucking shite that was close!”

Sera leaned forward slightly, raising one hand to flare out the front of her hood so she could see better. “You alright, Inky?”

Antares looked at her, hazel eyes reflecting the low lighting, and forced a laugh. He shifted his hand slightly, clutched over his side. As the smell of copper hit her nose, Sera immediately ducked down to get a better look at the wound, cursing the whole way.

“Tell me it’s not bad, please,” Antares sighed, and moved his hand so she could have a better look in the dim light of the street lamp next to them, “Dorian’s going to kill me if I try to die again.”

Sera looked up, nose crinkled, chewing her lower lip, and then swiftly went digging in their pack for something.

“That bad?”

“You’re too squishy,” she said and pressed a lump of gauze to his side. “Stop jumping in the way.”

“I was trying to jump out of the way,” he replied, taking hold of the gauze while Sera dug for bandages and started haphazardly wrapping them around his middle.

“You need stitches,” she said. “Pick yer poison: Dorian or Mae? They’re both equal runs.”

“Mae.”

Antares barely hesitated. Sera just laughed and shook her head.

“She’s gonna tell him, y'know,” she said, grabbing the pack for him.

“I know.”

They started down the alleyway again, Antares trying to hide his limp and looking a note paler than usual. He added, “It’s just enough delay for me to come up with a good apology.”

-

They took the back entrance, through the kitchens, and Sera slipped the servant that let them in a few copper pieces. By now, words were rarely needed. One of the women watched Antares limp by with pursed lips and then moved to put a kettle on the stove.

Maevaris greeted them in the dining area, hair in a bun and wrapped in her housecoat, and let out a small sigh when she noticed the trail of blood behind them.

“Again?”

Antares flopped unceremoniously into one of the chairs at the table and shot her a weak grin.

“Sorry Mae.”

The magister sighed and stooped next to him, beginning to undo Sera’s rushed patch job. The elven woman from the kitchens moved through the room, depositing the warmed kettle and some rags as Maevaris helped Antares out of his shredded undershirt.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she said with a sigh, pressing a wet rag into the wound and motioning for Sera to bring their pack over.

As she dug around in the supplies, Antares took the break to reach over and pull loose the straps of his prosthetic left arm. He placed it on the table—lyrium enchantment glowing faintly inside—and rubbed at the scars where his real arm ended.

“Still just cute? I was hoping I’d get a handsome out of you soon,” he teased, watching Maevaris prep the stitch needle. “And do we really have to bring stitches into this?”

Maevaris just clicked her tongue. “You get whatever compliments you can right now. Especially with how Dorian’ll fuss at me over this. _‘I told you to send for me when he does stupid things!’_ I’ll never hear the end of it. Also, yes. Because you can’t get a simple, shallow wound, even once.”

Antares made a face, hand going to the locket hanging from his neck, and said, “He’s got a speech tomorrow. Can’t get in the way of his sleep.”

“You know you’re a much larger concern to him than yelling at old men,” Maevaris replied, then went quiet as she stitched up the gash in Antares’ side.

He let out a soft hiss as she started, doing his best not to move, and said, “He’s doing important work, whether or not he thinks so.”

“If you’d listen and not get hurt,” Sera piped in, leaning on the back of the chair next to him, “none of this would be a problem.”

Maevaris nodded in agreement, remaining silent as she finished the stitching and topped it with a little healing magic before rebandaging the wound. Once she was finished, she snapped her fingers at Antares to get his attention.

“Now, don’t pull these out falling off a roof like last time.”

“That was just the one time…”

Maevaris just laughed and shook her head, getting to her feet and pointing down the hall.

“Take the guest beds. It should be mostly healed by morning.” She brushed the wrinkles out of her housecoat and headed back the way she’d come from earlier. “The kitchen staff will make sure you’re fed, if need be.”

“Thanks Maev,” Sera chimed in, grinning after her.

She looked to her mage companion then, offered her hand and helped him to his feet after Antares grabbed his prosthetic off the table.

“Widdle’s gonna worry,” she remarked, letting Antares lean on her side as they made their way down the hall. “But she’s got nothing on yours, so we’ll see him first, yeah?”

“Thanks.” Antares chuckled. “Maybe he’ll be more agreeable if the meeting goes well.”

“Ha! Good luck with that. He’ll only be sweet on you if nugs fly, then,” Sera teased.

“Can’t blame me for wishful thinking…”

Sera laughed again, adjusting Antares’ weight on her as she pulled one of the guest room doors open with her foot—classy as ever.

“No,” she said as she slid her arm out from under him, and let him limp into the room. “But I can be the voice of reality.”

“Always the idealist, eh Sera?”

“Night, Inky.” She laughed again and pulled the door closed for him.

Antares sighed lightly and limped his way over to the bed. Fresh sheets and soft pillows called him into sleep with little effort and he didn’t stir again until morning

-

Morning came with a breakfast tray and a small handwritten note delivered by Maevaris’ ever-doting staff. The food was traditional Tevinter fare, and the note was an all too familiar scrawl—obviously written in a hurry.

_Amatus,_

_Be prepared with a formal apology. Mae informed me moments before the magisterum meeting, and if the nerves don’t ruin me, you certainly will have._

_Long suffering love,  
Dorian_

_PS: Again? Really?_

Anatres smiled faintly and stuffed a bite of food into his mouth before folding the letter and tucking it back under his plate. There was a knock at the door mere moments later and Sera’s voice filtered through the solid wood.

“Mornin’ sunshine!”

“Morning,” he called back, then watched Sera’s usual high-energy entrance follow.

“Ready with your apology? He’ll be out soon?” she asked, and stole a piece of fruit off his tray.

“I was thinking I should be nude for it. But… ah, that might pull some stitches,” he remarked, feigning thought on the matter.

Sera laughed. “Ah, give it a day. He likes to brood and you get time to heal. Try words first-thing.”

“Sound reasoning.”

“Always,” she said. “So anyway, you gonna get dressed or not?”

Antares raised a brow. “With you here?”

Sera just scoffed. “Nothin’ I haven’t had the displeasure of seeing before.”

The mage laughed and hauled himself out of bed. The staff had been kind enough to provide them both with fresh, bloodless clothing for the day. It was better to leave in some attempt at civilian clothing, at least.

Once ready, they made their way out the back again. Four blocks of alleys and rooftops, remembering how livid Maevaris would be the whole way, and they made their way into the Pavus kitchens after slipping the elf working there a small pouch of tobacco.

“Is he in yet?” Antares asked one of the cooks while Sera snatched a roll out of a nearby basket.

The cook just smiled and nodded once. “Having tea with madam Maevaris in the foyer.”

Sera and Anatares tiptoed their way out of the kitchen and down the hall, pulling off their shoes and dropping their bag once they reached the sitting area. Antares, as usual, took this moment to also remove his prosthetic once again.

“You just put that on,” Sera whispered as she shrugged out of her coat.

Antares made a face. “It gets in the way.”

“Works almost like your real one, Widdle made sure!” Sera shot back.

“I still can’t feel shit with it,” Antares replied, slightly more miserably than intended. “So I’ll stick to nothing if I’m not climbing roofs.”

“Ah, right.” Sera just grinned and lapsed into silence as they ducked into the foyer.

Finally in earshot, they both paused to listen to the rather sullen voice of Magister Pavus. Sera shot Antares a knowing look, mouthed ‘told you,’ and received a grouchy little frown in response.

“It was a flop, Mae.” Dorian sighed, equal parts annoyed and tired. “I’m surprised I wasn’t laughed out of the room.”

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad.” Maevaris hummed, doing her best to be encouraging as always.

“But you admit it was, in fact, bad?”

“Well…”

Another sigh, louder this time, followed by clinking teacups. Antares lingered in the doorway with Sera and watched Dorian’s back as he made himself another cup of tea. Over his shoulder, Maevaris smiled at them.

“Where is that man, anyway?” Dorian asked, voice tinged with worry. “Gets himself stabbed and doesn’t even show up to comfort me in a timely manner.”

Maevaris’ smile widened ever so slightly as she watched Antares tiptoe towards the back of Dorian’s chair.

“Did they mention him again?”

“Oh no, thank the Maker,” Dorian replied sullenly, taking a sip of his tea before adding, “But there are still signs posted all over. _‘Beware the Red Drake of Minrathous! Lock your doors lest he come for you in the night!’_ He’ll love them…”

Antares reached out and gently mussed his fingers through Dorian’s hair on this note. The man jumped, just slightly, then leaned into the touch with a soft 'mm’.

“Thank you for finally joining us, Master Lavellan,” he mumbled as Antares leaned over his shoulder and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Care to give your opinion on all this vigilante justice going on?”

“Public menaces, the whole lot,” Antares replied with a soft chuckle.

“Ah,” Dorian smiled and caught hold of Antares’ shirt, pulling him into view, “Glad we’re in agreement on that one.”

Antares just laughed and allowed Dorian to drag him into a kiss, hand braced on the back of the chair for balance. When they parted he cocked his head to one side and grinned, blond hair falling over his face.

“So, does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“Oh no,” Dorian replied sharply, “not yet. But it’s a start…”

-

Later that day, Dorian took it upon himself to rebandage the wound. It was mostly closed, if heavily bruised now, and it didn’t appear Antares would be out of commission much longer.

“So, what exactly happened?”

“Magister Saavad had a few more guards than we were expecting.”

Dorian sucked his teeth, hands ghosting over Antares’ side, and directed him to sit on the bathroom counter. As the elf made a feeble attempt to get comfortable on the marble surface, Dorian dunked a rag into the warm water basin next to them.

“I told you to be careful.”

“You always do.”

“Yes,” Dorian replied sharply as he carefully wiped at Antares’ wound, “and you never listen.”

“Ir abelas, ma vehnan.”

Antares’ voice was low, tone carrying a huskiness that always gave Dorian pause. The mage fought the reflex to shiver and narrowed his eyes at him.

“That’s unfair.”

“Just playing all my cards,” Antares replied, smiling fondly as Dorian fumbled through rebandaging his side.

“ _Anyway_ …” Dorian attempted to move on but, upon catching the other man’s gaze, he trailed off.

There was a moment of silence, heavier than usual, and then Antares found himself nearly knocked off the counter as Dorian grabbed him and pulled him into a sudden kiss. Antares drug him as close as possible, Dorian slotted between his legs, and grabbed a fistful of his coat front. The mage responded by jerking Antares to the edge of the counter by his belt and pressing their hips together roughly.

When they broke for air, Antares reached up and dug his fingers into Dorian’s hair, pulling him down to speak in his ear.

“I’m sorry I worry you.”

“You should be,” Dorian said, and nipped at his neck. “I’m still waiting on a proper apology.”

“What do you desire, ma lath?”

“Stay,” Dorian replied, shifting to press his forehead to Antares’. “Give me a week of Comte Lavellan instead of Red Drake. I’ll take you somewhere nice.”

Antares smiled and squeezed his legs around Dorian’s hips. “I _am_ somewhere nice.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Just a week,” he repeated before stealing another, shorter kiss.

“Mm, I can do that,” Antares replied. “For you.”

-

Formally, Master Lavellan’s arrival had been the prior evening. The elf often made a quiet entrance—no one would see it as particularly odd that Magister Pavus gave such short notice for his schedule changes. By now, most of his alliances were well used to this.

Privately, Antares wasn’t foolish enough to think this was for anything other than Dorian wanting to be able to take him to dinner after his most important meeting of the day. Not that he was one to complain; expensive food after weeks of stealing from the kitchen and whatever Dagna brewed up was more than welcome.

“I do wish we could stay like this.”

Antares paused, setting down his fork lightly, and caught Dorian’s gaze. The other man lingered on him a moment—his left side in particular. Master Lavellan never used a prosthetic. _Unnecessary_ , he’d been quoted once.

“I’ll stay as long as you like, luv.”

A tease. An effective one, no less.

“I’d love to hear the talk, amatus. It’s bad enough when you visit.”

Antares feigned a flinch and leaned back in his chair with his glass of wine. “What are they calling me this time? Your pet?” he asked.

Dorian made a face and snatched up his own wine glass for a long sip. Antares watched, faint smile in place, and earned a sullen look when the magister set down his cup.

“Too far?”

“You heard,” Dorian said, a statement masked as a question.

“I hear all the rumors about you, ma vhenan,” Antares replied casually.

“Well, then I’m sure you’ve heard what I do with people who sass me, Master Lavellan,” Dorian shot back, plucking the napkin from his lap and dropping it on the table as he got up.

“A few things. But maybe you’ll go easy on me? Since I’m so charming…”

Dorian just grinned. “Not a chance, amatus.”

A quick trip to the Pavus estate followed and Antares, ever the eager one, didn’t even wait to get inside before shoving Dorian firmly into the nearest wall and stealing a long kiss. Dorian squirmed as he pulled back grinning—both due to the garden wall digging into his back and the knee pressed between his legs—and grumbled something about 'decency’.

“And here I thought you’d get over your outdoorsy interests one day.” Dorian grumbled and nudged Antares’ shoulder gently. “Come, let me greet my staff and get you somewhere more private.”

The elf grinned at him. “Oh, but why not make the most of the week we have to be _public_ with things?” he asked.

“Not. Happening.” Dorian warned, even as he looped an arm around the elf’s hips and towed him towards the door.

They at least made it to Magister Pavus’ quarters, Dorian finding himself pressed into his mattress rather than another brick wall nearly the second the door closed.

And neither of them would have left until well into the next afternoon, had it not been for a letter, delivered in the early hours of the morning.

_Inky,_

_Widdle and me got guests last night, important someones. You’re gonna want to meet them soon._

_\- Sera_


	2. Trial Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sera and Antares get an offer for help that turns out a little hard to pass up.

“You’re breaking our deal already? It hasn’t even been a whole day.”

Antares paused, the fingers on his prosthetic twitching as the lyrium core connected to his remaining arm, and cast a guilty look towards Dorian. The man made a face, nose scrunched, and raked a hand through his hair.

“Just an hour, ma vehnan,” Antares said, fixing his arm in place before getting to his feet and pulling Dorian into a quick kiss. “One. Just one.”

“You know Sera tends to exaggerate. This could have at least waited until noon,” Dorian grumbled, even with his annoyance fading. Antares grinned at him and stole another kiss before pulling away to put on his cloak.

“Perhaps,” he said as he yanked his hood over his head. “But she also hardly ever says someone is ‘important’.”

Dorian watched Antares sheath his sword hilt in silence, arms folded over his chest, and waited until the elf turned to him again. When he did, he beckoned him closer.

“No falling off roofs. Or getting noticed,” he warned. “You get one hour before I send someone looking for you, you got that?”

Antares grinned and nodded.

“Be careful. I mean it this time.”

Antares nodded again and pressed a kiss to Dorian’s cheek before starting for the door. “I’m always careful,” he said, missing Dorian rolling his eyes as he set off down the hall.

Out through the kitchens, down a few alleys, and in through the storage basement in Dagna’s newly bought estate; an uneventful, if winding, trip. When Antares made his way up stairs, pulling his hood down as he went, he could already hear someone talking in the main sitting area of the house.

“There’s been so much to learn here. It’s just a shame Tevinter is so… _this_.”

Dagna.

While Antares and Sera were largely forced into secrecy, the dwarf experienced a positive life overall in Tevinter; even enjoying a lucrative income due to her knowledge of rune making. It was all used to their advantage, at least, and none of the magisters were the wiser.

When Antares rounded the corner he got a look at who she was speaking to, sitting on a couch, cup of tea in their hands.

Champion and current adviser to the Viscount of Kirkwall; Kendall Hawke.

Hawke caught his gaze when he entered, blue eyes narrowing a moment before they smiled and rose from their seat to greet him.

“Master Lavellan.”

“Serah Hawke.” Antares took their hand when he’d closed the distance between them, giving it a firm shake. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Hawke smiled, dark skin crinkling pleasantly around their eyes, and motioned for him to sit. Once Antares had settled in, tea cup in hand, they spoke.

“Varric and Dagna have been telling me all about your little, ah, project,” they explained, reclining in their chair. “I think I know of some assistance for you.”

Antares frowned and shot Dagna a confused look. The dwarf smiled and waved him off, as if his concern was unfounded. He looked back to Hawke.

“I, uh, appreciate the offer, Champion…” he said slowly, “But I’m not sure you’re the best fit for it. Most of the elven slaves around here don’t take well to human mages, even ones trying to help them, if you can understand.”

Hawke just smiled more widely and shook their head. “Oh no, not me,” they said, “Though I gladly dispatch slavers when given the chance.”

“Then…?”

He paused as Hawke raised a finger.

“… I want it to be clear that this was not my idea,” they explained. “Nor do I particularly like it. But… my husband is his own person, and I’ve no room to talk about making _slightly_ reckless choices. Before this goes any further, however, I need to make one thing known.”

Antares waited. So, Hawke continued.

“If any harm comes to him, _you better hope your ass is dead before I get to you_.”

Antares swallowed. He nodded, and then watched Hawke’s smile return just slightly.

As if on queue—perhaps he was—an elven man entered the room. Antares watched him. The man’s lyrium scarred hand reached out and trailed the back of the couch to Hawke’s head—where it promptly ran through their dark hair.

“Master Lavellan,” Hawke spoke as the man rounded the side of the couch and plucked a cup off the table, “you remember Fenris, yes?”

Antares nodded, memories of the stoic warrior arriving at Skyhold a day after the assault on Adamant and berating Hawke for a full hour coming to mind. Fenris glanced at him, white hair shadowing his face, and took a sip of his tea.

“I understand our outfit is… of interest to you?” Antares asked.

“I understand you have been facing some difficulties in the past few weeks,” Fenris replied, moving to sit next to Hawke. “I am simply offering you use of one of my better skills.”

“Better skills?” Antares repeated, brow raised.

The corner of Fenris’ lip pulled up ever so slightly. Antares found it was strangely infectious.

“Killing magisters, of course.”

“Well, serah,” he said. “I think you may be a good fit after all. Let me just… speak with my cohort.”

-

Dagna directed Antares down the hall then but it was hardly necessary; he usually knew where to find Sera. The mansion was by no means huge but it hosted a variety of rooms that the pair had made interesting use of, being the sole inhabitants. One such room was Sera’s shooting range.

Originally, the room had been intended to be some sort of separated dining room; longer than it was wide and walled on one side with windows for natural light. Instead, it was empty, aside from a few targets on the far end, and, at that particular moment, Sera and her bow.

She loosed an arrow as Antares entered and cussed as it skipped off the top of the target and into the wooden door behind it.

“Thoughts?” he prompted her.

She didn’t look at him, instead notching another arrow onto her bow and taking aim. Antares folded his arms behind his back and waited.

“He makes me nervous.” She let the arrow fly. It hit the center of the target with a thump that echoed in the nearly-empty room.

“So did I, if I recall.”

“Hawke makes me more nervous,” Sera added, notching another arrow, “They act buddy buddy one second, then bloody vicious the next.”

She rolled her shoulder, aimed, and loosed the arrow. It hit the target a few inches from the one before.

“Hawke’s not the one who’ll be on missions with us,” Antares replied.

Sera sighed and lowered her bow, raking a hand through her hair before turning to face him. She made a face, lips pursed and nose wrinkled, and waved her free hand at him.

“Yeah, but they’ve got stock, y'know? Shit goes south, and we’ve got the Champion of freaking Kirkwall on our half-dead asses,” she said. “Not like he can do anything more special than us; you’ve been glowy and shite before.”

Antares laughed. “His version of ‘glowy and shite’ functions a little differently than mine did,” he replied.

“Still.” Sera bit her lip and looked off down the length of the room, bouncing on her toes. “Aren’t you taking a week off, anyway?”

“We can do a test run? One quick smash and grab to see how you like working with him?”

“No,” Sera replied firmly, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m not going anywhere with anyone without you.”

Antares smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Sera.”

Sera shook her head, even with the smile playing on her lips. “Dorian’ll be mad.”

He shrugged. “That’s why I’m not the one asking him,” he said. “You are.”

“Oh, no fair!”

Antares laughed. “Hey, you’re the one who won’t go anywhere without me.”

-

Antares finally returned after 45 minutes, rather than a full hour, with a note from Sera. He handed it off to Dorian as he entered, pulling off his cloak and prosthetic after, and sitting on the magister’s bed to watch him as he read.

“Whose idea was this?” he asked shortly, peering over the letter at Antares. The elf smiled wanly.

“What part?”

Dorian waved the letter at him. “The whole thing!” he said. “Start to finish.”

“Fenris joining was his idea, the trial run was mine, and the letter was Sera. So… group effort.”

Dorian shot him a critical look, chewed his lower lip, and looked back at the letter. After a long moment, he asked, “Where are you planning on going?”

“Saavad’s.” Antares leaned his elbow on his knee, propping his chin on his fist. Dorian’s face got even more scrutinous, if possible, so he added, “We found another entrance. It’ll be safe, I promise.”

“You owe me an extra day for this.”

Antares laughed. “Ma vehnan, if this works out I’ll be able to give you an extra week.”

“I’ll hold you to that, you know,” Dorian warned, smile tugging the corners of his mouth in spite of himself.

“I know.”

-

Antares left after dinner, avoiding lit street lamps the whole way to Dagna’s manor. Back through the cellar and into the dining area, he arrived just in time to catch his team members saying their goodbyes.

“Stay safe.” Dagna pressed an exaggerated kiss to Sera’s cheek. “And remember, only use that new flask of fire if you really need to.”

“Tryin’ to blow me up again, eh Widdle?” Sera teased, straightening up and offering Antares a little grin as a greeting.

“Not blow up, per se…” Dagna trailed off, tapping at her chin in consideration, “Hopefully not, anyway.”

“Comforting.” Antares chuckled, adding, “Where’s our fresh blood?”

Sera bobbed her head over her shoulder, towards the hall behind her. Antares gazed past her just in time to catch sight of Fenris, already cloaked and armed, entering the room.

“Ready?”

He nodded once, hood falling further over his face. Sera ducked to press a kiss to Dagna’s cheek before yanking on her own hood and pulling her bow over her chest. They left the way Antares came, and immediately took to the rooftops, slowly picking their way a few blocks east in silence. Communication was only necessary once they reached the mansion adjacent to Magister Saavad’s.

“Guards.” Fenris whispered, eyes catching light even in their shadowed position. “How many did you say there were last time?”

“Sixteen, at least, in and out.” Antares replied.

The three of them watched the rotation for a moment. Two stationary in sight; one on each corner of the building, and two crisscrossing patrolmen. There were likely more posted inside, in similar fashion.

“Where are we headed?”

“Saavad’s office.”

To Antares’ left, Sera made a cutting motion across her throat. Fenris smiled faintly.

“For?”

“We’re not after him,” Antares explained, swatting at Sera lightly. “We need his trade agreements. We’re running disruption on his next incoming shipment.”

Fenris gave a little ‘mm’ of understanding and shifted on his feet, hand going for the hilt of his sword. “Do you want left or right?”

“You go left.” Antares reached for his spirit blade hilt, magic flowing to his fingertips. “Sera, get rid of the patrolmen. On three…”

On the mark, Fenris and Antares dropped from the roof and split to either corner of the building, while Sera notched an arrow, eyes fixed on the guard approaching the left side. Quiet and clean. Guards down, it left them a matter of minutes to get in the window and down the hall. Two more guards along the way and two more posted at the door to the magister’s office.

They stopped just a moment to catch their breath, backs pressed to the door, and then ducked into the darkened room. Sera and Fenris braced themselves against the other side of the door while Antares shot across to the desk.

It was inches before he reached his destination when light filled the room—fire, from Saavad himself, looking over the desk. Antares ducked, the fireball whizzing past his face and hitting the door by Fenris’ arm. The warrior slapped at the flames that hit his cloak and reached for his sword. Antares dove for Saavad, spirit blade raised.

“ _Stop!_ ” Antares landed on the magister’s chest, blade pressed to his throat, and Saavad snuffed a fireball in his hands. “Or I’ll kill you now, shemlen.”

The elf slapped his free hand over Saavad’s mouth before he could call for help, leaned in, and pressed his knee harder into the man’s chest. There was a heavy silence, seconds ticking by, and then he spoke.

“Jenny, search the desk.”

Sera darted forward and pulled the drawers loose while Fenris pressed his ear to the door, listening for approaching footsteps. Seconds later Sera raised a file over her head.

“Found 'em.”

“We need to go.” Fenris, ear still pressed to the door, raised two fingers. “Now.”

Antares grabbed Saavad’s head and bounced it roughly against the floor, knocking him out, and moved for the window. Sera and Fenris followed, and all three ducked out onto the rooftop and down into the alleyway below before the doors to the study had slammed open.

They made it three blocks back before they felt it was safe to stop and catch their breath, crouched under an empty storefront overhang.

“Someone told him we were coming,” Antares hissed as Fenris wrapped gauze around the burn on his arm. “He never should have been there.”

“But who would have told him, Inky? This one?” Sera motioned to Fenris, who narrowed his eyes at her.

Antares shook his head. “No. But maybe… maybe some of Dorian’s staff? But why?”

“Perhaps we should debate this when we return. We’re already running behind,” Fenris piped up as he tossed the roll of gauze back into the pack.

There was a murmur of agreement and they picked up their things, making the rest of their way back to Dagna’s manor in silence. In through the kitchens this time, where they grabbed some water to cool and wash Fenris’ burn, they finally stopped in the dining room. Antares grabbed the shipping agreements and spread them across the table, perusing them while Sera greeted Dagna, and Fenris washed his shoulder.

“This is worse than we thought. We’ll have to move earlier,” he sighed, flopping into a chair and pulling his prosthetic off roughly. “Two nights from now.”

“What piss are they getting, anyway?” Sera asked and leaned over his chair back to see the agreements better. “Is that—shite, Seheron?”

“People, Sera. He’s receiving people.” Antares sighed and rubbed his hand across his face tiredly. “Fuck. Should have killed him when I had him.”

“We’ll have another chance,” Fenris spoke, as he dropped the rag he was using back into a bowl of water.

“We?” Sera raised a brow. “I don’t know, Glowy, your ass got hurt. Not sure Hawke’ll let Inky or me live to see two nights from now even.”

Fenris laughed at that—really laughed, for the first time since he’d met them. Antares and Sera exchanged glances then looked to him curiously.

“Worry not. I’ll take care of them,” he said simply.


End file.
